


On Second Thought

by KyloTrashForever



Series: Oneshots [22]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Is Stereotypically Douchey Per Rey, Ben Isn’t As Tough As He Acts, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Focus On The Smut, Grumpy Ben Solo, I Hit You With My Car And Was Your Only Visitor At The Hospital AU, I’ve Said It Before And I’ll Say It Again, Meet-Ugly, Mutual Pining, This Author Knows Nothing Of Medical Practices, but we love him, nurse rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: “I’mtryingto help you.”“After you almostkilledme.”She rolls her eyes, extending a hand, and he frowns at it for several seconds beforefinallytaking it with an exasperated breath.“Fine. Just try not to kill me on the way.”She thinks for only a second that maybe she should have just gassed it, quickly chastising herself and knowing how awful that line of thinking is.“Ow,” he hisses as she tries to help him into her car. “Can younotmanhandle me?”On second thought.In which Rey hits Ben with her car and can’t seem to leave him alone.





	On Second Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katieitsmee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieitsmee/gifts).



> Hello! Funny story— this is my 50th work. (Two are on anon right now.) 
> 
> I had every intention of my fiftieth being something ridiculously weird, and yet here we are with this borderline soft smut. 
> 
> I guess I’m getting back to my roots. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ❤️
> 
> Shoutout to [RensKnight18](https://twitter.com/RensKnight18) for tagging me in this Meet-Ugly  
> prompt list on Twitter! 🥰 This one spoke to me. 
> 
> Gifted to my little Yeet-belina, who asked me for filth on Easter Sunday and got soft smut instead. ❤️

* * *

 

“Oh my God.”

She feels her heart hammering against her ribs, her foot still cemented to the brake pedal and her knuckles white against the steering wheel.

She can’t see him anymore, his large figure having tumbled down the minute she collided with him. In her defense, she hadn’t been going very fast— having been resting at a stop light. It’s just that the honk of the horn behind her led her to believe it had turned _green_ and she hadn’t _realized_ that pedestrians were moving to cross and he walks so _fast_ and really she’d just _grazed_ him—

_Fuck._

She scrambles out of her car as quickly as she’s able to, stumbling around the hood to find him seething on the sidewalk, clutching his leg and hissing between his teeth. He looks up at her with an expression that can be only be described as _fury—_ eyes dark and wild and she’s just grateful he’s alive.

“I’m so sorry, I’m _so sorry—”_

“ _What the fuck is your problem?”_

“I didn’t— I just got distracted and I—”

“Fucking save it,” he growls, attempting to get up. He winces when he tries to put weight on his leg, groaning as he takes a seat back against the sidewalk. “I think you broke my leg.”

“Oh my God.” She feels panic bubbling in her chest. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

“As _if,”_ he snarls, “you would probably crash the car in transit.”

“Hey.” She frowns a bit, huffing out a breath. “I know you’re in pain but this _was_ an accident.”

“Because that makes it better,” he grits out.

“I’m _trying_ to help you.”

“After you almost _killed_ me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, now you’re being a little dramatic.” He scowls as he attempts to stand again, and she shakes her head at his stubbornness. She extends a hand, eyebrow raised expectantly, and he frowns at it for several seconds before _finally_ taking it with an exasperated breath.

“Fine. Just try not to kill me on the way.” He groans a little as she helps him stand, his thick arm encircling her shoulders as she helps him to her car. “Unless you’re looking to finish what you started,” he mutters.

She forces herself to bite her tongue, thinking for only a _second_ that maybe she should have just gassed it. She quickly chastises herself, knowing how awful that line of thinking is.

“ _Ow_ ,” he hisses as she tries to help him into her car. “Can you _not_ manhandle me?”

_On second thought._

* * *

She isn’t sure why she’s still in the waiting room.

He’d grumbled and complained the _entire_ ride to the hospital— never ceasing even as she half _carried_ his too-large ass inside and helped him check in.

She’d waited while he’d given the attendant his information— learning his name is Ben Solo, he is not much older than she is, and apparently his bad attitude extends to all peoples and not just her. She isn’t sure if this is a comfort.

It had been hard not to notice that he’d be fairly attractive if it weren’t for the permanent scowl affixed to his features. She hasn’t failed to notice how fucking _large_ he is either— although it is hard to miss with every hard inch pressed against her as she helped him hobble around.

When they carried him off in the wheelchair— he quickly informed her that he didn’t need anything else from her. Actually, what he said had been more along the lines of _thanks for almost killing me that’ll be all—_ but whatever.

So why is she still sitting here?

Part of her thinks perhaps she is afraid he will call the cops on her. This is probably misguided since the asshole hadn’t even bothered to get her name— let alone her insurance. Still, he knows what she drives… but in all honesty she doesn’t think that’s it.

Then again, she isn’t sure what it _is_ either.

She asked the nurse to inform her when he is able to have visitors, offering a massive fib of _yes, I’m his sister_ and hoping it didn’t come back to bite her in the ass. She just needs to make sure he was okay. Then she would leave the grumbling asshole to his own devices and try to forget this catastrophe ever happened.

Or at least that’s what she’s been telling herself.

It is a good hour before the nurse finally informs her that her _brother_ is cleared to have visitors— and points her in the direction of his room. She realizes his _actual_ family will probably be here at this point, and she thinks maybe she’ll just have a quick peek to ensure he’s okay and then quickly retreat.

But they aren’t there. His family, that is.

She finds him alone, tucked away in his hospital bed with a stark black boot around his injured leg. His arms are crossed, staring out the window with what she is realizing is his _signature scowl—_ and she gives a light knock at the door as she steps inside.

His eyes snap to hers, a moment of surprise before something moodier takes hold, and then his mouth turns in a frown. “What are you still doing here?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Apparently I’m fine,” he hmphs. “No thanks to you.”

She heaves out a sigh, determined not to let his attitude get to her. She _did_ hit him with her car, after all. “It’s broken then?”

He glances at his leg. “Fractured. Have to wear this damned thing for a few weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” She hopes her face expresses just how much that’s true. Even if he’s an asshole— she wouldn’t wish this on anyone. “I really am.”

His jaw works for a moment as he stares after her, and then he gives a curt nod. “Okay. I get it. It was an accident.”

There is an awkward silence as they both just sort of linger, and Rey lets her eyes pass over the empty room curiously. “Did you not call someone?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who exactly would I call?”

“Parents? Siblings?”

“Don’t have either.”

“You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “Only child. Dad’s dead. Mom might as well be, for as little as we speak.”

“Oh.” _Way to put your foot in your mouth._ She scrambles to change the subject. “Maybe a girlfriend?” Although, even as the words leave her mouth she wonders how he would find another person to put up with this foul attitude for more than a day. As if reaffirming this point, he just snorts, and she grimaces. “Or… a boyfriend?”

He glares at her. “I didn't have anyone to call. Okay? Can we be done with this line of questioning?”

She isn’t sure why her heart gives a little squeeze then, some unexpected surge of sympathy coursing through her. “I’m sorry.”

He hmphs as  he turns away, not looking at her. “Don’t be.”

“How do you plan to get home?”

“I’ll manage.”

She chews on her lip, knowing that her next words are mistake— that he probably won’t even _want_ it, but—

“I could take you home.”

His head snaps to hers, and his angry expression morphs into pure confusion. As if he genuinely can’t determine why she’s still _here._ She knows the feeling. _“_ If you’re just trying to make yourself feel better…”

She shakes her head. “I’m not.”

His brow furrows in thought, eyes passing over her face as if trying to figure her out. “Then why?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. If I’m being honest.”

Another moment of silence— and then he’s nodding, face no less hard but eyes softening maybe a _fraction_ and, Rey feels a twinge of _something_ in her chest, because doesn’t he look a little lonely?

He doesn’t look at her as he whispers, “Okay.”

She still isn’t sure what in the hell she’s doing— but she thinks maybe he’s more grateful than he lets on.

“Just try to get me home in one piece,” he mutters.

_On second thought._

* * *

His home is just what she would expect it to be— had she given it much thought.

Clean, dark— a bit pretentious-looking, if that is a thing— nothing out of place. Almost as if no one actually _lives_ here. It’s sort of unnerving.

She helps him onto his dark couch, noticing the unforgiving and _uncomfortable-looking_ material, and he only grumbles a _little_ as he settles into it.

It is strange— but this massive man almost looks _small_ in this sparse apartment that is too big for comfort. One glance around reveals no personal items, no pictures on the walls, and she is struck with that same twinge in her chest. It isn’t sympathy per se— more like recognizing a kindred spirit.

She is all too familiar with what it feels like to be alone.

His quiet voice pulls her from her musings. “Thank you for bringing me home, Rey.”

She is surprised by how little bitterness she finds in his tone. It actually makes her smile. She is also surprised by how much she likes hearing him say her name— his asking of it being the only talking point on the ride over save for his quiet directions.

She waves him off. “I figured it’s the least I could do. Hitting you with my car and all.”

He doesn’t smile back, but his mouth does this _thing_ — a curling at the corners, and Rey thinks to herself briefly that if Ben Solo were to smile— it might just ruin a person.

 _“_ Still. I haven’t exactly been… tolerable.”

She can’t help it—she laughs. “ _No_. You?”

Another twitch at the corners of his mouth. Almost got him that time. He looks away instead, a huff of air escaping his nose that could almost be mistaken for a laugh. “Either way. I appreciate it.”

She makes another sweep around his apartment. “Are you going to be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” he snorts. As if trying to prove his point, he attempts to stand— nearly stumbling as he sinks back into the couch with a grimace down at his boot. “This motherfucking thing.”

Rey scratches at the back of her neck, struck again with an urge to speak and _knowing_ it’s possibly a mistake but the _last_ time hadn’t worked out so bad and she _is_ the cause of this so—

“I wouldn’t mind coming by to help some.”

He’s looking at her as if she’s sprouted another head sporadically— and honestly she knows the feeling. She isn’t sure what keeps possessing her to want to stick around, it certainly isn’t his sparkling personality. But it’s out there now— the offer lingering in the air and he’s just _looking_ at her and she wonders if he thinks she’s as crazy as she feels.

“Don’t you have like… a job or something?”

“Well, yeah.” She shifts a little, thinking he definitely must think she’s crazy. “I’m actually an LPN so… home health sort of _is_ my job. I get off at four everyday… I wouldn’t mind swinging by when you need something. This is actually on my way home.”

_Why is she offering this?_

He’s a grown man. Even if he has no family— he has every other resource this century has to offer. It wouldn’t be hard for him to take care of himself with things like Uber Eats. So why is she so nervous for his answer?

He’s staring at her, brow furrowed and mouth slightly agape and _just say something already would you._ Then he smirks— actually _smirks._ “They let you take _care_ of people?”

She narrows her eyes, even as she recognizes this is his way of _teasing_ her— even as she realizes it makes her chest flutter. “I’m very good at it.”

He’s still smirking, and even though it isn’t a smile, she’s so irritated she thinks maybe she had been wrong about her hypothesis of his smile.

“You know,” he starts. “I guess it _would_ sort of be fair. Seeing as you caused this. Especially after I was good enough not to report it.”

No, Ben Solo wouldn’t ruin anyone. Not with his might-be-breathtaking smile or anything else because surely he’s just an asshole through-and-through and there’s _no way_ that he—

His lips curl into a full-blown grin, and Rey is left dumbstruck— her heart racing and mind fuzzy and she’s nodding in assent before she can even stop herself.

_On second thought._

* * *

After the fourth day, she’s beginning to think he will never text her— and she can’t even explain her disappointment. Ben Solo is moody, and temperamental, and just a little bit of an asshole— but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s found herself wanting to see him again.

So when he _does_ text her— she can’t help the little flutter of excitement she feels. Over _groceries._

His list makes her frown— all the things she might have assumed he eats had she taken the time to think about it. Expensive, whole-grain nonsense that can’t taste very good and why is that not surprising at all? He assures her he will pay her back, but that isn’t really the crux of the matter. No _wonder_ he’s so unhappy eating this garbage.

She sneaks in a carton of cookies-and-cream for good measure.

She’s admittedly a little nervous when she buzzes at his door, balancing the grocery bags on both arms until she hears the lock unbolting and then he’s just _there_ and is he somehow bigger than she remembered? His dark hair is messy as if he’s been napping— a shadow at his jaw as if he hasn’t shaved, and she wonders idly what it might feel like under her fingers.

_Where the fuck did that come from?_

She quickly brushes these thoughts away, pressing inside as he moves to let her pass and set her bags on his counter. She doesn’t look at him as she starts to unload them, afraid he might catch the way she’s blushing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess.” She nearly jolts when his answer sounds directly behind her, surprised by how near he is as he peers over her shoulder. He isn’t looking at her though, instead perusing the items she’s taking out of the bags. “Showering is a bitch.”

 _Cue blush._ Now she’s thinking about him in the shower, and that is _not_ beneficial to her health. It isn’t _her_ fault that he’s wearing such a tight t-shirt— _white,_ she might add— and it leaves little to the imagination.

“Sorry about that.” Her voice is far squeakier than she would like, and she clears her throat to try and rectify the situation. “I can’t imagine it’s comfortable.”

“I’m managing… what’s this?”

She turns then to see he’s holding her carton of ice cream, studying it with a confused expression. “Oh, just a gift from me. Your grocery list depressed me.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my grocery list?”

She huffs as she grabs for her phone, pulling up their conversation. “ _Chia seeds, quinoa, pine nuts, kale, salmon—_ need I say more?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Are you berating me for clean eating?”

“No, just for being so stereotypically douchey.”

His eyebrows shoot up into his hair, and she claps a hand over her mouth. He actually just looks shocked. “ _Stereotypically douchey?”_

Her eyes fall to the floor, shrugging a little. “Come on, the attitude, the apartment, the fucking _quinoa—_ I bet you do something stupidly ridiculous like work in the stock market too.”

He stares back at her evenly. “I’m a lawyer.”

She throws up her hands. “Of course you are.”

He’s still looking at her with that blank expression, and she wonders if this is the moment where he kicks her out. Where he tells her to never come back. She braces herself, but he looks again to the carton in his hands with interest. “Is this the kind you like?”

She nods. “It is.”

He purses his lips, setting it back on the counter and nodding towards a drawer across the kitchen. “Scoop is in there. Make me some too.”

He turns on his heel to leave then, moving towards his living room as she is left gaping in his kitchen. She knows it’s not a good idea, to get too familiar with this man who is obviously from a completely different world than she is— for god’s sake, his groceries alone would cost her a week’s salary— and that she should just go and leave it as it is now.

He turns to give her a backwards glance, peering over his shoulder with a bemused expression. “Well? Are you coming?”

_On second thought._

* * *

She’s back at his place three days later, on a Saturday no less. She hadn’t even worked today— and this was most certainly _out of her way—_ but it hadn’t stopped her from getting dressed and coming over. She isn’t even sure why he wants her there. He’s asked for nothing that he couldn’t get done by other means.

Today it’s picking up his dry cleaning.

She tries not to be too judgemental that _of course he dry cleans—_ strangely just happy to have the excuse to see him again.

No one is more surprised than Rey by this fact.

Their last encounter had been oddly pleasant, both eating ice cream quietly with only sparse conversation that consisted mostly of Ben asking her about herself. She can’t pretend she hadn’t been thrilled that he’d seemed so interested in what she’d had to say.

She’d told him about school, about her job, somehow settling on the topic of her stint in foster care and trying to ignore the way he’d looked at her with sympathy as she’d skimmed over it briefly.

Everything had sort of tapered off then, and by the time their bowls were empty— it had felt right to mention that she should be getting home. She’d even wondered if he’d ask her over again, so when his text had come through, she’d been a little more than relieved.

She only knocks once before the door swings open, and he’s filling the space yet again in grey sweats and a black t-shirt and _do they even make shirts that fit this man?_ Plus, his hair is wet. Why is his hair wet? And _why is that so appealing?_

It clings to his temples as if he’s just stepped out of the shower, and she sees a peek of ears through the dark strands that are tinted pink from what she assumes is the heat of the water he was just under.

It shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.

She steps inside to lay the bag of his clothes over the back of his couch, and she wonders if he expects her to linger. Or maybe he expects her to drop it off and go.

He clears his throat. “Would you mind helping me put them away?”

She shakes her head because _no, of course she doesn’t mind—_ anything to hang around and deepen this insane crush she’s developed on the man she hit with her car. She picks up the bag again, following his lead down a hallway into his _bedroom_ and trying not to let the sight of his massive bed fluster her too much.

He gestures to his closet, quietly directing her where everything should go.

“You have a lot of suits,” she points out.

“Sort of comes with the territory.”

She sort of wants to see what he looks like in one.

“You weren’t wearing one the day… well. The day of the incident.”

He chuckles softly, and she wishes she were looking at him to see it. “It was my day off. I rarely get one. I guess I should have went into work, huh.”

She can’t help but frown, thinking to herself that if this catastrophe hadn’t happened, well… maybe it’s ridiculous to think that way. Surely she is the only one that does.

“Still,” he says a little quieter. “Might not have met you otherwise.”

She stills for a moment, sucking in a soft breath, her heart beating a little wildly in her chest as she doesn’t dare look at him. Maybe she isn’t the only one who— maybe it’s _possible_ that he could—

“It’s kind of nice having someone to do everything I ask,” he finishes with amusement.

She scowls, continuing her task irritably.

_On second thought._

* * *

She’s over every other day the next week for various reasons— Ben continuing to think up little tasks that he needs her _help_ with and by Friday, it has gotten fairly transparent.

She’s here today because he’d thought to alphabetize his _books—_ and some of the higher ones had been too much of a struggle for him to reach in his current _predicament_ , as he’d called it.

She’s standing on the counter space just under his wrap-around bookshelf in his office, Ben sitting nearby in an armchair as he watches her work. She thinks to herself that surely this is not something that is necessary, and she wants desperately to just _ask him_ if maybe he simply _likes_ having her around.

Sometimes she thinks he does— until he opens his mouth.

“No, no— that one should go _after_ that one.”

“Then do it yourself,” she mutters irritably.

“I would,” he chuckles. “If someone hadn’t run me over.”

“Keep talking and I might just finish the job.”

She’s smiling as she says it now, and she knows if she turns around, he will be too. This is the part she likes— the easy banter that always seems to occur when she’s around him. Yes, he’s an insufferable ass most of the time— but she can’t deny he makes her laugh. He’s also unforgivably intelligent, and when he isn’t making her roll her eyes— she can tell he is actually a fairly decent human being.

“I saw the doctor today,” he informs her.

She peers over her shoulder. “How did you get there?”

“I had my assistant pick me up.”

“You have an assistant?” He nods, and she shoots him a frown. “Then why am I playing your servant here?”

“You offered, remember? Also, my _assistant_ didn’t hit me with his car.”

She turns back to her work, grumbling. “Fair enough. What did the doctor say?”

“My leg is healing much faster than anticipated. I might not even have to wear the boot the full four weeks they originally suggested.”

“That’s… good.” Even as she says the words she doesn’t really feel them. It feels like when he is better— there will be no more need for him to call her. No more need for her at all. She is surprised by how sad that makes her. “You must be excited to have it off.”

“Oh, I am,” he murmurs. She frowns at the books in front of her. “I’m very ready to be rid of it.”

“I don’t blame you,” she says quietly. Trying to distract herself from her growing melancholy, she turns to show him a hardback. “This has two last names.”

She’d been gripped by the idea that he might not need her beyond this, that this strange agreement between them would be the only connection they ever shared. But when she turns to offer the cover of the book in her hand, she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick up to hers. The way there was _no possible way_ they hadn’t been settled below, right on her—

_On second thought._

* * *

The next week, she is there every day.

Some days she doesn’t even come over to help him with anything. Sometimes they just talk.

Like today, when she’d somehow wound up making dinner for the both of them— something like an _I’m sorry for fracturing your leg_ gesture.

He sits across from her at the table, his plate emptier than hers as he sips at the remnants of the wine in his glass.

“That was very good.”

She shrugs. “One thing you learn quick when you’re on your own is how to cook.”

She winces the minute it’s out, not looking up for fear of the pity she might find there.

“I know what you mean,” he replies softly, and when she looks up— she finds not pity, but understanding.

“Why don’t you talk to your mother?”

He looks away, taking a deep breath. “For a lot of reasons.”

“Good ones?”

He considers this. “Probably not.”

“That’s sad,” she tells him honestly. “You only get one.”

“Maybe you’re right,” is all he says, and it’s quiet again. She wishes she hadn’t started this line of conversation. He clears his throat. “I’m going back to work this week.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “I’ve used all the vacation I can stand. I’m going stir-crazy here.”

“Oh.” She moves the little bit of food around her plate with her fork. “I’m sorry again, you know. That this happened.”

“I’m not,” he offers quietly. “Not anymore.”

She glances up at him to find him staring at her, his gaze heated and full of _something_ and she wants to _ask_ but his mouth is opening before she gets the chance.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

She has to admit that isn’t what she’d been expecting. “Which one?”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. You pick.”

She bites back a grin, feeling that _something_ in his eyes crackling between them as she nods in agreement. “Okay, but it’s going to be cheesy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”

The rest of the evening is spent in quiet, the pair of them settled on his uncomfortable couch with only the light of the TV cast over them. She doesn’t really pay attention to whatever is on the screen, too hyper aware of the arm draped across the back of the couch and _just touching_ her shoulders in a way that is far beyond casual.

He doesn’t complain when her head rests against his shoulder, and she doesn’t press for why that is. She wonders if he will ask for more than this, and when he doesn’t, she doesn’t press for why _that_ is.

She wonders if maybe he is not very good at this. She could certainly see it— with his temper and his snarky wit and his terrible taste in food—

But his lips brush against her hair, so soft she almost doesn’t catch it— and she _knows_ it is not her imagination.

_On second thought._

* * *

She doesn’t see him for four days after.

The night had ended on what she’d thought was a good note, full of quiet goodbyes and shy smiles and that _something_ in his eyes that she couldn’t stop thinking about.

There had been text messages here and there, mostly random inquiries about her day and snarky jokes about her murderous tendencies— until today, when he asked her to come over.

Not under a pretense, not with a request— just her.

She’s so _nervous,_ knocking on his door. She isn’t sure why, since she’s been here dozens of times already— but things feel so uncertain now. As if something has shifted and she isn’t sure where it will go. If it will even go anywhere at all.

She is still battling these thoughts when the door swings open, and he is _in a suit_ this time and if she were _in a car_ right now she might hit him all over again because _Ben Solo_ in a suit is something to behold.

She is so distracted as she steps inside she almost misses the glaringly obvious difference about him— other than the mouthwatering three piece that is draped over his figure.

Her eyes flick to it then, widening as they take it in. “You got the boot off.”

He nods. “I saw the doctor after work today. He says I’m right as rain a few days before he expected.”

She isn’t sure why she’s so down about this— this is _good_ news _._ “Ah,” she laughs, little humor in the sound. “Guess you won’t need me running errands for you anymore.”

“No, I won’t.”

She hadn’t expected him to be so blunt about it, and she feels herself grow a little more disheartened. “That’s really great, Ben. I know how much you hated it.”

He nods. “It was a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes are on the floor, afraid to look at him for the odd desire to cry welling up inside her. “I can imagine.”

“Mostly because I couldn’t do this.”

She hadn’t really registered him approaching, but it’s hard to ignore now that he’s _right there—_ his hands tugging at her waist until she’s _molded_ to him before they find her jaw to tilt her face to his.

She can’t deny that she’s thought about what it might be like to kiss him over these last few weeks— if she’s being honest with herself, she’s thought about it _a lot._

His lips are soft— _so soft_ as they move over hers . Even his teeth grazing across her lower lip is a lovely sensation. His tongue licks there to soothe it, and then she is opening and he is pressing inside and it is both _everything_ and _nothing_ like she imagined.

She feels his hand moving to trace the curve of her spine, _bending_ and _molding_ until she is so close that no space exists between them and somehow even _closer still_ and she can’t _get enough._

Her fingers fist in his jacket, her knees weak with the dizzying sensation he incites. His fingers are in her hair, _twisting_ and _tugging_ and there is a slight pain but it is _wonderful_ even still.

When he breaks away, his breath is as ragged as hers— and his eyes are shut tight as he swallows thickly. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for weeks.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’ve thought about doing several _other_ things after that I couldn’t do properly in that damned boot.”

She feels a fluttering in her belly, heat tingling between her thighs and she presses them together as she peers up at him.

“You aren’t wearing the boot now.”

His thumb grazes her jaw, dark eyes finding hers as his mouth curves _just so._ He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and she wonders if she’s been too bold. Maybe he hadn’t intended for this to happen _now._ Maybe he didn’t—

“No,” he murmurs. “No I’m not.”

_On second thought._

* * *

She’d been sad to see the suit go— for about four seconds that is— because _underneath._

All hard lines and chiseled edges and she’s having a hard time _not_ running her fingers over every part of him she can reach. His lips are at her throat, licking and sucking and his _teeth_ graze the skin even as his fingers work at the button of her jeans. He falters when she manages to flick open the button of his slacks, her hand delving inside to palm the heated length of him and _he doesn’t even fit in her hand._

“ _Fuck,”_ he groans. “Just like that.”

She squeezes lightly, running her fingers over the shape of him, and she feels his shuddered breath wash over her skin as she strokes him through the fabric of his briefs.

He’s long since wrestled her from everything above her waist, and her nipples brush against his chest before his hands abandon their mission below to reach between them and thumb there. She feels they way they harden under his touch, his thumb rubbing heavy circles into one taut bud as his lips mouth at her shoulder messily.

He thrusts into her hand, her thumb pressing into the tip of him that is jutted up against his underwear and feeling the wet patch that has formed there.

“Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” His voice is guttural, _rasping—_ washing over her and causing her to shiver. She shakes her head, and he nips at her skin lightly. “Since you called me _stereotypically douchey.”_

“That was— _ah.”_ He pinches at her nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he pins her hand between them with his hips. “That was the first time I came over.”

“It was.” He says no more to elaborate— but he doesn’t have to really. Those two words say _so much._ She arches into his hand when his palm covers her breast. “I’ve thought about these pretty tits and how they’d fit in my hand.” He gives a squeeze for good measure. “And your ass and how it _wouldn’t.”_ She feels another hand there too, and _oh_ — _she wishes he’d gotten her jeans off._ He rolls his hips into hers then, Rey feeling the thick heat of his cock imprinted into her hand. “But mostly I’ve thought about this cunt and the _sounds_ you might make when I’m inside you.”

She feels his lips press another lingering kiss into her skin, and then there is a flurry of activity before there is nothing between them but heat and their skin and whispered words of _implant_ and _I’m clean_ before—

“ _Fuck.”_ Her voice comes out like a whine, breathy and needy and it’s only the _head_ that’s inside her. “ _Ben.”_

His lips are at her temple, feeding her another inch of his thick length and _how she stretches around him_ but it is _so good._

He presses up on his hands to glance between them, watching as he slips inside the rest of the way. His chest is flushed and heaving, lined with a thin sheen of sweat, and she is wrought with the urge to press her tongue to his skin. To taste every inch of him. He’s still transfixed by where their bodies are joined— pulling his lip between his teeth as he seats himself inside her, his eyes fluttering a little as he lingers only a moment before beginning to withdraw.

He reaches to pull at her hips, pulling her onto his cock as he pushes back inside. Her back bows from the bed as he tugs at her hips, moving faster and _faster_ until her entire body _jolts_ with the effort.

There is a wet slap of skin with each thrust, and it is obscene, it is _wonderful_ — it’s _consuming._

One large hand splays over her belly, smoothing upwards to press between her breasts before traveling back from where they came. He drags it lower, his thumb dipping between her folds to roll over her clit and she _gasps_ as he begins to press heavy circles into the swollen bud.

“Wanna feel you come,” he grits out. “Wanna feel it all over me.”

“ _Just like that,”_ she rasps. “ _Please.”_

He’s moving faster, working the sensitive bundle furiously even as he pounds into her again and again and _again_ and she feels the way she will come apart. She feels it in every part of her— _knowing_ it will ruin her.

Even still she _welcomes it._

She hears his breath coming out in sharp huffs— labored and deep and his hips are stuttering but his thumb is _right there_ and her body is wound _so tight—_

She feels her orgasm in every nerve ending, a flood of sensation that courses through her and she is trembling, _shaking even—_ his hands now so tight at her waist they may leave a _mark._ It is only moments after that he pushes into the quivering heat of her to go still, his large body falling over hers as he gasps for breath. She feels him deep, gushing a slick warmth as his cock twitches inside her.

Her hands smooth over his shoulders, moving to tangle in his hair as her lips find his jaw. “That was…”

“Worth the boot.”

She grins, and when he presses up to look at her, she realizes she was right. His smile really could ruin a person.

Maybe it already has.

They both groan as he slips out of her, but then he is pulling her close and _oh, this is nice too._ His nose nuzzles along her hair, his fingers trailing over her hip slowly. She thinks to herself it can’t possible get better than this. Nothing could ever be better than him and her and _now_. It could never be any better than—

“We should do that again,” he mutters.

_On second thought._

* * *

She doesn’t have to knock now.  After six months, she has her own key. She steps inside, kicking off her shoes and stowing her purse on the entry table before she sets off to find him.

He is draped over the couch— their new, _much more comfortable_ couch she might add— his tie slung haphazardly to the side and the first few buttons of his shirt undone and she will _never_ get tired of coming home to this.

He grins at her when he sees her enter, pausing the game he’d been watching to extend an arm in invitation. She curls next to him, feeling his lips at her hair and a soft hum as he breathes in the scent of her shampoo and it is _bliss—_ living like this.

“How was your day?”

She shrugs. “Long. Uneventful.”

“So I take it you didn’t run over anyone today?”

She blows out an exasperated breath. “You’re never going to let that go. Are you.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

She rolls her eyes, thinking that _okay, maybe it’s not_ total _bliss—_ because his mouth never really did improve even if his temper has come leaps and bounds. Still, he could definitely—

But then his lips are at her temple, and she feels the way his mouth curves there. “Worth every second though.”

She can’t help the way she smiles into his side.

_On second thought._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!  
> 


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